


Memento Mori

by indraaas



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Gen, I update this one pretty frequently so fingers crossed, absolute hell on earth I know, au where mard is revived and has to become an ft mage, he discovers emotions at some point, mostly just...mard learning to cope with humans and yes he screams internally, non chronological drabble collection, this fic will give you whiplash bc there is no telling when I'll post a happy or sad chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-11-07 08:48:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 6,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indraaas/pseuds/indraaas
Summary: The bitter irony of existing to die is that, when given a second chance, Mard Geer Tartaros is incapable of finding it in him to live - least of all in the guild that killed him in the first place.(drabble series, non-chronological)





	1. wisteria

To call it a  _shack_  is being generous.

It's a hideous, tiny thing he supposes once was a fine specimen made of sturdy stone and wood. Now, it's buried beneath thick, knotted vines that froth with sickly sweet purple flowers, and is held together by the moss that's seeped between the bricks. The windows are shattered and the wood long since rotted, but it is four walls and a roof and it is more than Mard Geer Tartaros can say he deserves.

( _Oh, the kings, how they fall_ )


	2. home

They make no effort to hide how they watch him.

They spawn from the walls in the Guild Hall no matter where he goes - 'they' being mostly Natsu, Erza, and Gajeel. The others observe from hidden corners. Some do not approach at all, and he finds that that is best; he has learned to work his visits around certain schedules. It's easier to assimilate when Gray Fullbuster doesn't see the ghost of his father riding on his coattails, or when Lucy Heartfilia can walk by the canal without supervision from her team.

The shack is not immune, either. A poorly hidden rune etched onto a tree tips him off to a neighbour he discovers living in a modest two-storey house five kilometers north.

That Laxus Dreyar is not  _subtle_  is something he learns rather quickly.


	3. amber

In retrospect, he shouldn't be surprised that the Guild has a hidden basement.

He also shouldn't be surprised that it has traces of Zeref's magic all over it, because  _of-fucking-course_  his Creator played a hand in the formation of this Guild; everything on this goddamn planet ties back to Zeref and Mavis and Fairy Tail. He seems to be the only exception these days.

Shards of amber shatter under his boots as he passes the remains of the massive crystal where Zeref's magic is the most concentrated. Lamy's labs had similar structures, mostly used for the preservation of whatever organism she was tinkering with that week. He scoffs and moves on to the desk behind it. For a Guild that preaches transparency, they've done a wonderful job of hiding their own sordid past. Zeref, human experiments, hidden records, and living demons, all packaged up and stamped away with a colourful tattoo. The only difference between  _them_ and  _Tartaros_ is that the Magic Council offers insurance for damages incurred by the members.

Mard thumbs through notebooks idly. It's not in a language he's intimately familiar with, but he catches a few key words here and there: Zeref, Mavis, limbo, homeostasis, Ankhseram. He copies down some of those recognizable terms, the fairly innocuous ones, and pockets it for later. He'll have to ask either Freed or Levy to pinpoint the language so he can start to pick apart the journals with a dictionary in hand.

He doesn't sleep much these days, anyways.


	4. olive branch

"You've done a pretty nice job cleaning the place up!"

Mard rises from where he's been crouching for the better part of an hour and winces at the ache in his knees. It's rare for him to say that he genuinely misses anyone from Tartaros, but it's times like these that he wishes Lamy was still around to deal with these  _human irritations_.

"Miss Strauss," he greets politely. "What are you doing here?"

Mirajane smiles beatifically and holds up a basket stuffed to the brim with both food and the odd trinket. "It's a bit of a housewarming gift from us all! You updated your address in the documents, but I figured you're not the partying type. Still! Everybody deserves a housewarming gift, you know?"

"Thank you," he says, accepting the gift and bowing his head stiffly. He's very well aware that there is no  _us_ in this gift - the Guild that acknowledges his existence only enough to ensure that he's still on their short leash would not waste their precious Jewels and time on welcoming him. Mirajane, however, is far too soft of a person to allow that to pass under her radar. He's not entirely sure what annoys him the most: her pity, or her pretending they all care.

"Were you planting something earlier?" she asks, "I didn't know you gardened!"

"Hedera, yes. My Curse  _is_ plant-based, though I suppose you would not know that," he replies, mentally slapping himself all the while. This is another one of those stupidly human things he despises. Even though he desperately wants her to  _leave him alone_ , he can't drop the conversation and leave like before. A sense of impending doom grips him every time he tries.

"You should come by the Guild more often. That way we can  _all_ know these things about you," Mirajane says kindly, folding her hands in front of her smoothed out dress. "We are a family, after all."

He bites back the poison and nods.

Later that night, he burns the basket and everything in it.


	5. sadalsuud

He watches her teeter on the ledge by the canal for a few seconds before clearing his throat and saying, "He is a stubborn fool."

Lucy Heartfilia very nearly meets her maker before she tilts full right and hops off the stony wall to face him. It doesn't take a demon to spot a cornered animal, but he can appreciate the little power he has remaining for the boost to his senses; he may not be able to hear the faint echo of her heartbeat in the air, but he can feel her panic prickling against his skin. A year ago it would have been comforting. Now, his bones are weary.

"M-Mard," she stutters, reflexively grasping for her keys. The Golden Zodiac are easy enough to identify, and he spots a few familiar symbols in the Silver - Horologium, notably. He had always rather respected the wizened clock, if not held a rather particular fondness for it. Idly, he wonders how much of  _their_ history has been shared with her. Is what he is about to say going to come as a surprise? Or is she aware that their roots go deeper than Zeref?

"Who's a fool?" Lucy asks after a moment. He has to admire her false bravado, if nothing else. Humans are unsurprising creatures whose stubborn streaks of stupidity see to their untimely demise. Fairy Tail seems to be the one exception to that rule - they simply refuse to die.

"The Spirit King," Mard replies, "Not much has changed over the centuries."

"You  _know_ him?"

"We are old…acquaintances," he says slowly as he approaches her. He stops just short of her and pauses, eyeing the keys at her side. "I imagine he is well aware of Aquarius's location, and yet he refuses to tell you knowing full well of your history with her."

She clenches her fists and stares straight ahead. "I sacrificed her fighting  _your_ demons. I have to find her myself. It's my punishment."

"And now you spend your days fighting your own. Is that not enough? As I said earlier... _stubborn fool_ ," Mard murmurs, walking on. "Good night, Miss Heartfilia."


	6. gifted

For a Guild of  _humans_ , Mard must admit that their magic is on the  _mildly_ impressive side. As old as he is, it takes far more than petty ice tricks and requip to garner anything other than indifference from him, but it's not the magic itself that is intriguing - their ingenuity, fluidity, and sheer  _reserves_ are what deserve his reluctant admiration.

From his vantage point on the second floor, he can see it all. Their brawls are predictable at this point. Like clockwork, Gray launches forth a barrage of arrows, which Natsu counters with a wall of flames that evaporate the ice. Erza requips into her Purgatory Armour, only to be shoved back by Elfman's largest Form. It's absolute  _overkill_ and a waste of their magical reserves.

Mard touches the wood before him and forces his magic through frayed, disjointed pathways that leech his energy the longer he uses them. His lungs contract painfully and his arms are  _numb_ with the effort, until finally, a single, blackened rose petal slips between his fingers.

They don't know how lucky they are.


	7. family

He learns three things on his first mission: bones break easily, punctured lungs are  _not fun_ , and smug Guild Masters are even less so.

Somehow, he feels this is karma.

"Your magic-"

" _Lord Zeref_ gave us a Curse," he corrects coolly, despite the throb in his chest when he exceeds shallow breathing. Makarov looks at him with something close to pity in his eyes. Mard clenches his fists loosely and disengages the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger.

"Your  _Curse_  reserves are almost non-existent, and according to Wendy here, most of your conducting pathways are completely fried. Until she clears you to work alone, we've decided to put you on a team so you can take jobs," Makarov says.

"No," Mard says.

"You don't have a choice," Wendy interrupts, planting herself next to him and  _shoving_ the clip back on. "You can't take any fighting jobs and that's all you ever take. You  _barely_ socialize with anyone here, and it's not helping Mest convince the Council you're not a threat. You can complain all you want but I'm not giving you the all clear unless you do this. Mira refuses to sign off, too."

He bites his tongue and stares at the IV taped to his hand until the tape and needle fade into his skin. He is  _Mard Geer Tartaros_  and he will  _not_ be ordered around by some  _lowly human_ \- even if said human soundly defeated his greatest weapons with lesser magic.

Except she is (they  _all_ are) and there is nothing he can do to stop it.

He glares at Makarov. "Fine. Whom do you have in mind."

"Why, my lovely grandson and his team, of course!"

Not for the first time, Mard wonders if this if hell.


	8. book

Freed slips him a book just as they're about to board the train to Oak Town.

"To help with those translations you asked about," he clarifies. "I consulted with Levy, this is what we got."

Mard nods and tests the weight of it against his hand. The dimensions are  _identical_ to E.N.D. but it doesn't have nearly half the weight he's used to. There's no pulse he needs to match his soul to, no Curse he needs to damper; it's just a  _book_.

"Why don't you just write a Rune Code to translate for you?" Evergreen asks. Odd. She's barely looked his way since this morning.

"I see no need to waste energy when I am capable of doing it by hand," Mard replies. It's a good enough answer. Better than 'I don't know what a Rune Code is'.

"Be nice to your elders," Laxus deadpans as he hefts their gear onto the train. There's a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he says, "He  _is_ over 400 years old, after all."

"Forgive our impertinence, grandpa!" Bixlow cackles. "Impertinence! Grandpa! Grandpa!" his dolls echo.

"I despise you all."


	9. longing

"You seem awfully into that book, Mard," Mira says one day as she slides over his breakfast; he's never had to watch out for his  _diet_ of all things, but sugarless oatmeal has become as intrinsic a part of his life as the team who introduced him to it. Not that he likes either, mind you.

"It is not often I am confronted with a language I am unfamiliar with. As such, I believe this is a useful way to spend my time," he replies, slipping his notes into the pages. His translations are in a long dead language but he'd rather not risk his findings being leaked either way. His eyes flick up to where Makarov and Laxus sit. He has a feeling that he's not the only one aware of this connection.

"You should join Levy and Freed! They're always looking for a study buddy, and Levy's good with languages," Mira suggests with a bright smile. Her eyes soften a little as she says, "It would do you some good to make some more friends around here, you know?"

Mard watches the aforementioned huddle in the corner, pouring over volumes he's had memorized since before their great-great-great grandparents' conceptions. They're smiling and laughing and there's the oddest pang of  _longing_ in his stomach that he washes away with almond milk just as quickly as it comes.

"I have no need for friends," he says coldly. "And I never  _will_."

( _he goes to bed that night and dreams of Tartaros_ )


	10. fire and ice

_There's fire and ice and he can't feel anything but he feels everything and his book his world his lord his reason for living and dying it's all gone everything's gone why why why why_ why

 _It's crushing and dark and oh god it's_ everywhere  _it's_ in him  _and bleeding into his lungs and he just wants to breatheseespeak_ live  _for the first time in four hundred years he wants to_ live  _please let him_ live  _it hurts so much so so so much it HURTS-_

He wakes up on the forest floor and wonders if this is all death has to offer.


	11. for destruction

The shack is not suited to the cold. No matter how many runes he poorly splices together, no matter how many layers he dons, his bones are  _cold_ and the walls are even colder.

He can go to Fairy Tail, this he knows, but the trek there is more risky than the outcome is worth, so he stubbornly throws more scrap papers into the fire before him and delves deeper into one of the books from the basement. It's a terrible distraction from the numbness settling into his skin, but it's a distraction nonetheless; he's managed to make sense of three sentences on the page thus far, all about keeping someone named  _Mavis_ in the once tall amber to preserve her corpse for reanimation.

( _they walk with their heads so high but they don't know a lick of their own sordid history do they_ )

There's a rumble behind him and then Laxus is wrestling him into his oversized fur coat, hissing, "Mirajane was  _right_. God, you're fucking  _stupid_ , freezing to death-"

"T-too c-cold t-t-to lea-v-v-ve," Mard stutters, much to own horror. Mard Geer Tartaros does not  _stutter_.

"I live up the road, you could have called if nothing else, you idiot," Laxus snarls as he teleports them to his house - Mard is privately rather glad he doesn't have the energy to feel ill at the sudden motion.

"We're a  _team_ ," Laxus snaps, shoving him onto the sofa and pointing to the soup before him. "I look after my own. We all do."

Mard glances down at the book still in his clawed grip.

( _you don't know how rightwrongright you are_ )


	12. clade

"I didn't know you lifted," Laxus greets him at an hour even he deems rather unholy. He makes a mental note to arrive an hour earlier next time. He'd intended on the guild gym being entirely deserted so he could slip in and out before anyone other than Mirajane noticed.

"This would be my first time," Mard replies, approaching a stack of oddly curved bars and a rack of free weights.

"Need help?" Laxus offers immediately. "It's hard getting into working out at first. I've helped a lot of people in the guild develop a routine, and seeing as you're on my team…"

He has to bite back the 'no' curling on the tip of his tongue. He should say no. He  _wants_ to say no. He's Mard Geer Tartaros and in his four hundred years of life, he's never needed help  _once_. He is the  _Underworld King_.

But he has no Curse power. His bones are fragile. He can no longer hold his own in the frontlines. He is soft and  _weak_. He is  _nothing_ like he was.

He looks at Laxus, at the power rippling through him, and remembers the notes on a sickly little boy and lightning lacrima and how  _he's just like Yury now_ , and then he looks at himself and sees a little of the same.

"Fine," Mard says reluctantly. "I...would appreciate that."


	13. remembrance

"Hey, Mard!" Natsu yells in his ear. "You ready for the mission? Team Natsu and the Raijinshuu take on the Wyverns!"

Mard reflexively goes to push Natsu away with the spine of his book. "No. I will not be joining you."

"Ah, you're such a  _baby_ man, come on! Live a little!" Natsu whines, swatting the book away and slinging an arm around him. "You're always so fuckin' uptight-"

" _-and if that rod shoved up yer ass were any longer, we could toss ya over a fire and spit-roast you!" Jackal cackles. His visible eye glints with mischief and explosions as he dodges the vines heading his way. "Fuckin'_ weak _!"_

"Go away," Mard says curtly. "I cannot use my Curse, it would be a waste of energy accompanying you to do nothing."

"You're just makin' excuses 'cause you don't wanna socialize." Natsu rolls his eyes but leaves to join his little crew in the corner anyway. Mard ignores Mira's searching eye and reads the same line again and again and again in the book until the words start to blur.

(here's what Natsu doesn't know: that Mard spent  _days_ beforehand burning his meagre reserves and damaged coils and made one thin stem and he  _can't do anything_ )


	14. causa sui

"You tried to kill my children," Makarov says with a gravity that should not exist in a body so small. "Waged war against our allies. Waged war against  _us_."

Mard stares ahead blankly.

"The Council doesn't know what to do with you. Imprisoning you will help no one. No Guild is willing to take you. We're your last resort. So," Makarov levels him with a look that is near  _imperialistic_  - Mard would know, after all. "Why should I let you join this family after you came so close to destroying it? How do I know you won't do it again?"

Mard holds out his hand and waits. After a few seconds pass, he drops it and flexes his fingers lightly against the tremors. "I am incapable of doing such a thing. The revival process stripped me of everything. My Curse, my power, my immortality…" Makarov's eyes widen, and the former Underworld King  _smiles_. Bitterly, hopelessly, brokenly  _smiles_. "You are perceptive."

In the corner, Mest  _loses his mind_ as Mard slips to his knees and spreads his arms in a mocking bow. Makarov, to his credit, only stiffens under this newfound power and  _truth_.

"So, do with me what you will, Master Makarov Dreyar. If you wish to lock me far, far away from your children, I do not fault you. If you welcome me to your home, I will pledge my loyalty to you and keep my distance from your family. My fate rests in your hands." Mard looks up and for the first time, Makarov sees not a trace of pride on the Demon's face. No, not demon -

"After all, what am I but a human now?"

( _free will exists only for the victors and I have lost my crown_   _long ago_ )


	15. joy

He's distantly aware of the Totems screaming over Bixlow's fallen body, and Freed doing his best to hold together the bloody gashes on Evergreen's abdomen, and Laxus is  _downdowndown_.

And all he can focus on is  _her_.

Spiked blue horns and bloody  _wings_ \- wings! - looking every inch the demon she is but all he sees is saving grace and  _home_. Her magic wavers after she launches ball after ball of swirling energy, each sosososo close to ending it all so they can go  _home_.

His fingers twitch. He has enough. He's been storing it for times like this, and even if he runs out it's not like his coils can be destroyed any further than they already are. If it's for her, then -

His fingers lift off the ground barely an inch, just enough to complete his silent prayer as he chokes out, " _Alegria._ "

Black spots slowly cover the world as  _Mirajane Alegria_ bursts anew.

(  _\- there is nothing he won't do._ )

( _checkmate_ )


	16. confetti

At some point, one that he can't identify exactly, the  _shack_ becomes something more.

There's bits and pieces of the Raijinshuu scattered everywhere; Evergreen's shawls draped on second-hand furniture they'd foisted upon him, Bixlow's spices occupy a whole shelf in the tiny kitchen, Freed's books take up every available surface, and even Laxus leaves his mark in the form of a wall-spanning Lacrima-vision and recliner. There are smaller things, like the not-so-subtle sticky notes slapped to the window with suggestions of the secondary eye-magic he should take on, and the chalk tallies on the door for Monopoly and Uno wins. There are training schedules and a folder of completed missions and boxes of takeout and at some point, the sterility of his dwelling was swept out by  _life_.

At some point, Mard stops calling it a  _shack_ and starts calling it  _home._

( _he clips back the vines and starts growing roses_ )


	17. sympathy for the devil

He gets sick for the first time and  _curses_ this  _pathetic_ human body every second not spent throwing up. It gets to the point where there's nothing left in his stomach but he's emptying it anyway.

Wendy dutifully holds his hair back and presses a palmful of healing magic against his back, rubbing in tiny circles that are familiar in a way he can't quite place. There's something intrinsically natural about it and the modicum of comfort it offers, but he has no time to dwell on that as he bends over the toilet once more.

"Mira should be back with the medication soon," Wendy whispers softly.

He wants to tell her thank you, that she can leave him here, that it's not necessary that she stays, but he can't. Not just physically, but he  _can't_. He doesn't  _want_ her to leave. Even if Mira will be here soon, he doesn't want to be alone and he doesn't know  _why._  He's  _always_ been alone. He  _likes_ being alone. Or, at least, he used to.

Mard has only enough energy to touch the hand tangled in his hair and close his eyes.

( _It's later on in a fever-induced delirium, between Mira pressing cold cloths to his forehead and Wendy scribbling in charts and maybe even Laxus dropping by to keep vigil by his bedside, that Mard_ remembers _._

 _It's four hundred years ago and there's a little boy plagued with something and he's throwing up and growing thinner and thinner and his mother rubs soft circles into his back as he gasps for air and it makes everything everything_ everything  _better-_

 _And then a demon sweeps through the town and kills everyone. There's fire and smoke and mother is_ dead  _and when he looks up, he sees unruly black hair and a manic smile that grows a touch more deranged as the demon says, "Humanity is, in and of itself, an affliction. This Mard Geer will see to it that all humans are put out of their misery."_

 _He wakes up_ screaming. _)_


	18. stranger danger

Mard approaches the bar in a daze that's  _comically_ out of place on his aristocratic features.

"Mirajane," he begins slowly, taking the seat Cana offers him. "Mirajane, can you explain to me why I was just... _accosted_ by a group of five year olds dressed as demons, asking me to...'trick or treat' them?"

Kinana, blessed Kinana who Mard gets along with  _splendidly_ because she knows exactly how lost he feels sometimes,  _cackles_ as she rips the beer mugs out of Mira's grasp and tends to Macao and Wakaba at the other end of the bar.

Mira wipes her hands on her apron carefully, as if to prolong the inevitable conversation. Mard is a  _very, very_ patient man, especially with her, but it takes every ounce of his self-control to keep him from reaching over and shaking the answers out of her mouth.

"Um, today is Halloween, Mard," Mira replies. At his blank stare, she edges on, "You know...kids dress up as scary monsters and go around asking for candy? That's why they say 'trick or treat'."

"From strangers," Mard says.

"Yes."

"Adults offer children candy on the condition that they dress up for them and approach their dwellings."

"Well, when you put it  _that_ way…"

"This is the exception to 'stranger danger'?"

"Er, pretty much…" Mira turns to Cana for help. The brunette is too busy stifling her laughter in the bottom of a barrel to comment. Mard shakes his head in disbelief and signals for a whiskey neat.

" _This_ is what is fundamentally wrong with humanity."


	19. arborvitae

Despite the fact that her eyes are shielded by her glasses, Mard keeps fidgeting with his clothes, as if to assure himself that, no, he is  _not_ going to wind up replacing the stone statues at Magnolia's Central Fountain.

"What is this," Evergreen says flatly.

"...your garden," he says slowly, injecting just the right amount of inflection at the end to come off as confused instead of condescending. It's something he's been practicing out of late, another one of those little  _human_ things he needs to perfect to blend in.

"I can see  _that_ ," his teammate snaps, waving at the blooms. "Why is it...why are plants alive?"

Mard shifts uncomfortably under her scrutiny and picks at the dirt under his fingernails. He's not sure why he's so  _embarrassed_ by this - at least, he  _thinks_ this is embarrassment, the burning ears and heightened senses and desire to melt into the ground.

"I overheard you mention at the Guild that your gardening skills were lacking, and that you were unable to 'keep a plant alive', despite your efforts," Mard answers robotically, leaning back as her face reddens (anger? Shame? It's hard to tell), tacking on a little more nervously than he is willing to admit, "I took it upon myself to rectify that to the best of my abilities."

"Why? You don't-"

"Your birthday," he says quietly. "I...was informed that a human custom for that event involves providing gifts to the one whose birthday it is. According to Bixlow, these are normally monetary or something the recipient is fond of. Freed said that it should come from the 'heart'. When I approached Laxus with this idea, he said it was appropriate. If I have overstepped my boundaries, I...apologize."

Mard very nearly does die (yet again) when Evergreen throws her arms around him in a tight hug and whispers, somewhat choked, "You did great. Thank you, Mard."

"...you are welcome."


	20. naam

He's played judge, jury, and executioner more times than he can remember, but his stomach churns uncomfortably as they pass by the oh-so familiar sight of burnt houses and bloodied corpses.

"How cruel," Evergreen murmurs softly. Beside her, Bixlow's dolls coo mournfully, flying lower than usual.

"It was a demon according to the villagers," Freed says. Mard doesn't miss the looks they all shoot him, but he ignores it in favour of wandering through the decrepit graveyard. His magic boils in his veins as he walks close to blackened blooms; he  _itches_ to touch them, to discover what secrets they've bled into their petals, but he continues on listlessly. There is something here. Something he needs to find.

"They've had this problem for centuries. Apparently every couple decades some demon or the other will raze the town, but those attacks appeared to have significantly dropped four hundred years ago or so-" Freed prattles on. Mard listens without really hearing anything, though he knows he will be grilled soon enough.

The graves call to him - but not  _him_ , not Mard Geer, the King of Tartaros. Rather, they speak to him, the human. He's still getting used to responding with that part of him.

"Mard?" Laxus calls. "You alright?"

"Yes, why?"

"You've been standing there for five minutes lookin' like Ever froze you," Bixlow says. Evergreen hits him with her fan.

Mard kneels down and pulls away creeping vines, nearly recoiling at the burn. There are no physical marks on his palm, but his magic hisses and swirls under his skin as he continues to clean the gravestone.

"You know them?" Laxus asks. The Raijinshuu peer over his shoulder curiously, watching as he traces the faded etchings with the faintest hint of a frown on his face.

"...no." Mard rises and dusts off his pants. His impassive mask is in place once more. "I believe I have encountered the demon you speak of. I would like to do some more research."

"Villagers are that way, let's go!" Bixlow shouts.

"Villagers! Villagers! Go! Go! Go!" His dolls chant.

Mard throws one final look over his shoulder as they cross the hill, running his thumb over the vines he'd pocketed thoughtfully.

_Aashalata_

_X321 - X346_

_Rajendra_

_X336 - X346_

_Nainam chindanti shastrani_

_Nainam dahati paavakah_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's some...trivia, if you will. The title of this chapter is in Hindi, the names on the graves are in Sanskrit, and the 'poem' is an excerpt from the song "Bhare Naina". Using this information, plus that provided in this and a previous chapter, I think I've dropped enough Easter Eggs for a revelation of sorts to start to hit you. If not, don't worry, I'll be exploring this much, much more later on.
> 
> Thanks again, gang!


	21. thrive

“What did you find in the journals?” Laxus asks one day, when the entire Guild is passed out and they're the only two awake.  Laxus is not long for the world of wakefulness; his eyes are heavy-lidded and rimmed red, but how much of that can be attributed to the scotch curled in his grasp, he does not know.

Mard looks at his team leader closer than he ever has before, searching for the bits of Yury that he'd come to know over the months.  He sees the power, yes, and the downfall - the same downfall. Pride, that he is familiar with. Too familiar. But he knows Yury, _knows_ him more than anyone here, more than Makarov himself because there are some things a father would sooner tell a journal than his own son, and softens a little.  

He will survive.  He will survive not because he is Yury's great-grandson, or Makarov's pride and joy.  Not because he's survived Ivan, and his Kyuukimon, but because he is Laxus Dreyar and he _thrives_.

So Mard opens the book and his translations, and begins softly.  “ _Mavis was returned to me a year after her disappearance, by the Black Wizard Zeref, in a state of almost complete homeostatic shutdown…_ ”


	22. magic

Here's how it's supposed to go: the Guild has fallen, the Fairies are fighting, and Mard is in charge of evacuating and hiding the civilians.

Here's how it actually goes: the Guild has fallen, the Fairies are fighting, and something in him  _snaps_ when Gray Fullbuster's femur does.

Because, for a burning hot second, he's  _Mard Geer Tartarus_ ,  _his_ Guild is falling, and  _his_ demons are being pushed into a corner.

There's no burning protest in his veins as his arm lashes out in a motion perfected over the course of four hundred years. Thick, thorny vines explode from the damaged floorboards and rip through the behemoth wreaking havoc on his Guild Mates. The force is enough to shred through hundreds of pounds of flesh and throw it back a dozen feet. His arm snaps up. Thinner vines, no less deadly than the first, slither out from the roots of the first and dig into arms, legs, torsos, and necks, dragging and shredding as the Dark Guild Mages shriek and claw at themselves, drawing more and more blood as they hit the thorns.

He's  _alive_.

The vines are alive and they're singing in his blood, holding him up even as exhaustion creeps at the edges of his vision and threatens to pull him under. He's  _doing this_. Him! He's  _doing it_ , he can  _fight_ , he's  _wonwonwon_ , him!

Laxus slams his foot down and lightning rains down on those trapped in his vines, and suddenly  _the tides have turned._

( _and it's not a curse or a blessing it's_ magic)


	23. pool

"I refuse," Mard declares, sliding on his sunglasses and settling into a lounge chair. "It is a cesspool of bacteria and other filth, including urine and fecal matter. I do not wish to expose myself to that."

Nearby, Natsu perks up and says, "Urine? Like, pee? Who the hell pees in a  _pool_?"

Lucy sighs and extracts her feet from the cool water, shooting the pool mournful looks all the while. "It happens in public pools. But thanks for that mental image, Mard.  _Totally_ necessary."

Mard shrugs and flips the page to the next family tree. It's not a terribly interesting read and he'd much rather be examining Precht's notes on the effects of reverse transcription runes on Mavis's stasis, but it's still too risky to allow the Fairies to find out about his little research project. Instead, he finds himself doing this - he's not got much to go on besides a hunch and few maybe-imagined memories disguised as dreams, but he's worked miracles with less before.

"He's just not willing to get into the same pool as Mira when she's in a bikini," Bixlow jeers, "'Cause he's basically a virgin and he'd  _bust a_ -" Ever cuts him off with a sharp smack to the head. His babies cackle and float off to find an ice pack and a beer.

Mard, of course, will deny these baseless accusations until his dying breath, but he peeks over to where Mira's talking to Kinana and Cana. She's wearing a rose-patterned bikini he  _swears_ she selected just to short out his heart, and her hair is pinned up in an elegant bun and  _oh my god_ he's going to murder Bixlow for putting the thought in his head.

Mira looks up and flashes him a smile, and Mard's doomed before he's even realized it.


	24. grey

A dreary Tuesday evening finds Mard knee deep in squishy mud and half-dead flowers.  The rainfall isn't so terrible that skeletons will be unearthed, but the thought does cross his mind more than once as he makes his way through the rows of headstones.  

He wrinkles his nose only once before tucking the ends of his coat against his legs and settling down on the soggy grass next to Gray.  The stone before them is newer than the others surrounding the plot, obviously well cared for, with sharp angles to the engraving that tell him it wasn't a professional undertaker who set this up.  How oddly poetic is it that, in this case, it was not the stone that chipped the ice but vice versa?

“He was always rather fond of rainy days,” Mard says conversationally.  His magic thrums gently under his hand, bringing forth thornless red roses held together by a thin white vine.  He places them next to the baby's breath and closes his eyes for a moment, paying his respects to his finest general.

“Some days, he would go out and freeze the droplets in midair.  Jackal took that as an invitation to make them explode, but there would be enough remaining that we could have ice chips after,” Mard continues, “He enjoyed the blue flavoured ones.”

“I used to hate those,” Gray murmurs, “They tasted sour.”

“He mentioned that once.  You preferred red cherry.”

Gray turns to him, more like a lost child than he's ever seen the frigid mage, searching his face for something Mard isn't sure he can give.  Comfort is only an emotion he's grown used to in the past few months, and empathy is still an abstract concept to a reforming programmed sociopath.  He doesn't _owe_ him any of this, but he feels _compelled_ to sit here with him and commiserate because as much as Fairy Tail touts itself around as a family, they are simply incapable of understanding _this._

“Did…” Gray clears his throat sharply, nodding at the stone, “...ever talk about me?”

Mard doesn't answer for a long minute.  He wishes he'd paid more attention to his Kyuukimon now, remembered the little things they'd occasionally bring up about their pasts.  His single-minded obsession with Zeref ruined so much more than his physical life. He meets Gray's vulnerable eyes and nods.

“You must understand, Gray, that when he was under my employ, his sole duty was to serve me and by proxy Zeref.  A majority of discussions involving you related to the Guild in some way. He could not bring you up in casual conversation with the Kyuukimon or myself for fear of exposing you as a weakness.  We could not afford those.” Mard's eyes soften a little, a weak imitation of what he's seen Mira and Wendy do when people go to them with their worries. “But when he spoke of you it was easy to see that he cared for you deeply.  He tried to hide it, but I am not so ignorant that I do not recognize a father's love for his son when I see it.”

Gray sags a little, slumping against his shoulder as he curls up and watches the water hit the stone and flowers.  Lost child that he is, that he always has been. “Could you tell me about him?”

Mard smiles just a little and leans back, staring up at the silver streaking through the grey clouds.  “Silver once froze an entire lake in order to keep Jackal from pulling April Fool's jokes on us all. Of course, this was _after_ the idiot had blown up his bed at dawn…”

 


	25. new world

Crocus is _loud._

The buildings are still too small and too high, the streets are still _swarming_ with humans, and the pulse of magic is as strong as ever, but the second he exits the Honey Bone Inn, the weeds growing between the cobblestones anchor him in place.  How much of that is his own subconscious screeching for him to _get back in_ is up for debate.  

“It's a little disconcerting at first, isn't it?” Mira asks, closing the entrance to Honey Bone behind her.  “I remember the culture shock after Tenrou. I imagine it's a bit worse for you, though.”

“Much of Crocus is the same, and yet…” He gestures towards the bustling city square, hoping she _gets it_ because he isn't sure any dialect he speaks can do justice to the sense of... _heavy weightlessness_ he feels staring out at the world.  

“I know.  But I'm sure once the Games get a start you'll feel right at home,” she says cheerfully, smiling so broadly her dimples show.  “Hey, you've been here before, right? Anything still the same?”

Mard takes a second to wrestle his heart back into normal sinus rhythm - _that_ is _still_ a concept he's yet to grasp, that his heart is capable of pumping erratically, that it's pumping at all.  The way the sun makes her eyes lighter and her hair glow certainly isn't helping things, so he averts his gaze and nods.

“Yes.  Some bakeries and weapons shops I recall from...before.”

Mira loops her arm around his, pulling him forward with surprising force behind her thin arms.  “Would you want to show me around? I've been meaning to try and explore a bit!”

“...I would like that,” Mard says, falling in step next to her with ease.  

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Fairy Tail, Hiro Mashima does, etc etc


End file.
